


Cover Me

by Project0506



Series: Soft Wars [18]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Clones, Cultural Differences, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mirialan culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:07:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23509630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project0506/pseuds/Project0506
Summary: Green Company protects their own.  That includes their Padawan.
Series: Soft Wars [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1683775
Comments: 48
Kudos: 1063





	Cover Me

**Author's Note:**

> I can find nothing at all on why some Mirialans, notably Force Users, habitually cover their heads. I have found some suggestions: one that it's a class indicator, and another that Mirialans have extra Force-sensory organs along their scalp, and that those who develop their usage of the Force make these especially sensitive. For my own reasons, I've gone with a combination of the two: that it is not proper for a young lady of Barriss' standing to allow her Force sensitive organs to be exposed in public. I've also named both the organs and the traditional coverings, cuz I couldn't find what they were called. If there's a canon alternate explanation, please let me know!

She’s not hit. She’s _not_ _hit_. She’s not hit but there’s heat and pain and screaming. Is she screaming? She’s not hit but she _hurts_ there’s hurt everywhere in the ground in the wind and there’s more dust than air in her nose and mouth. Everything is silent but ringing and someone just _won’t stop screaming_.

She reaches up to cover her ears. There’s empty air between them and her hands.

She knows better, she _does_ , but her feet turn without her permission. Her s’tola is gone and it _can’t be gone_ it isn’t proper. She has to get it back. She has to find it and get it back, before anyone sees. A step, another. She can’t see it, where is it, _where is it_.

An iron band clamps down on her arm and hauls her off her feet. No no no _no_ she kicks and scratches but her nails scrabble against dust and plastic and can’t find hold. Her kicks thud off like raindrops.

_Who is still screaming?!_

She’s crushed in iron all around, unyielding. Her feet don’t reach the floor. Rocks and walls crumbling on either side speed by. Angry wind slices across her neck, her ears, where’s her s’tola?

“-and the boys are _right pissed off_ you know,” someone is muttering. “This whole time we were slacking off and we didn’t even know it. I can’t believe you made us have to go to _Wave_ for the manual. Do you know how uppity their Captain is? He’s so smug I’ll be cleaning gunk out of my comm for months. I’d bitch to Grey but he’s just as bad. We were _first_ you know, before even _Torrent_ and every karking vod seems to forget-”

“What?”

The avalanche of words cut off. “You with us commander?”

Gree. _Gree_. Barriss sobs a breath of relief. Her hands curl to fists and press against his breastplate.

“We got you,” he says. He has one arm under her rear, the other hand around the back of her neck. Her face is pressed to his chest. He’s not looking at her. “We got you.”

Somewhere behind her someone yells ‘Clear!’ and Gree yells back ‘Wall!’

Cool shadow snaps up around them and sound and wind cut off, like someone slammed a door shut. They’re inside. Something. A house? A room. A window, two doors. The one to outside, they just came through. There’s a shadow in that door. Decker, Barriss hadn’t realized she was reaching out until she felt him, the elastic snap of his mind and short temper almost as familiar to her as Gree’s. That’s Mack, at the window, looking out. Pickup is behind her, at the other door. Watching all exits. Facing out.

None of them are looking at her.

Gree puts her down and her legs don’t support her. He follows her down tugged by the fingers she has tangled in the side strap of his breastplate. He could have broken her hold.

Gree’s not looking at her face.

“Let’s get you sorted.”

Barriss doesn’t understand.

“Gonna need to touch you, commander,” he prompts. It takes her another moment or two for the words to make sense. She nods. He can’t see. He’s not looking at her face.

“Yes.”

“Sorry we only have makeshift,” Gree apologizes, incomprehensibly. “Didn’t have time before we had to ship down. We’ll get a proper spare when we get back.”

He has a set of upper blacks, new in packaging, rolled up in a pouch on his his belt. He tears into it. He tugs her forward.

The collar of the blacks slip over her head and sit against her forehead. The polyplast fabric settles above the twin row of ‘ola running under her hair. The thrumming Force, the pressing _hurt_ in the air muffles.

“Practiced on Mack,” Gree keeps talking, not seeming worried that he’s carrying on the conversation by himself. He pulls the sleeves taut, cross them at the back of her head and pull them around to the front. “Til I could do this with my eyes closed. I deserve a karking medal for that commander, I don’t know if you ever had to deal with his breath.”

“Up yours sir!” Mack calls cheerfully.

Gree knots the sleeves just above her left temple, gently tucks the trailing ends under the line of the collar. He twists the hem of the blacks closed and knots them. The world is quiet.

Barriss doesn’t know how long she’s been crying.

“We’re gonna be better,” Gree swears. He wipes her eyes with his his wrist and tugs her back to his chest. “Read the whole damn manual, priority message straight from Coruscant. Got it all memorized now. So we know what to do now, okay? Just forgive us if we’re a bit shaky up front, just til we find our rhythm. Come on, Commander, we’re not gonna let karking _Torrent_ make Green Company look bad.”

Barriss nods. She still doesn’t understand and her feet still aren’t on the floor, but somehow she thinks things might be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> No Mando'a this time. Weird.


End file.
